


Holding A Man Can Be Done With One Arm

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Beard Burn, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Snowpiercer AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Snowpiercer crossover AU: Steve and Bucky are getting ready for revolution. They spend a little time together to clear their heads and talk things out. </p><p>Title taken from the quote from the film "Holding a woman is much better with two arms."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding A Man Can Be Done With One Arm

(Just going to leave these here)  


* * *

 

 

The thing about the tail was no one cared. It was cold and cramped and after seventeen years, the rocking motion had lulled the passengers into complacent discontent. No one was happy, but no one could be bothered to do anything about their discomfort.

That was how Steve found Bucky, curled into himself, ragged and sleepy, on a late afternoon. The train had a way of aging people. Bucky looked older than his twenty one years, just out of his teens, but the wind burned, bearded, hardened face that peered up at him from beneath the worn layers of cloth in his bunk spoke of decades that had not yet passed—may never pass, Steve thought but did not acknowledge—people lived hard and short on this train.

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Steve said, pushing Bucky over to climb into his bunk and sliding in to share body heat, soaking up the warmth from his blankets. Bucky grunted and tucked his head into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“What’s up, punk?” Bucky asked, his voice not much higher than a whisper. His nose was cold against the skin just below Steve’s ear and it sent a shiver down his spine. Bucky was the only person who could make Steve shiver in a good way. Bucky was the only good thing on this train. “Any news?” Bucky asked. They never worried about people listening in. Sound was lost in the rattle of the train.

“I got another one.” Steve said, reaching into his pocket.

“A note?” Bucky asked, waking up. His eyes grew brighter through the dim, grimy light.

“Yeah. It says we need to start getting ready.” Steve said.

“For what?” Bucky asked. “I don’t know.” Steve said. “But I’ve got a few ideas.” He glanced meaningfully around the train, what they could see from Bucky’s bunk. It was the view Bucky had seen nearly his whole life, a strip of lighting illuminated a thin walkway between the other bunks for as far as he could see until they ended in space for living—not quite living, nobody could call it that. Steve’s view was the same. So was every other resident crammed into the caboose.

Steve stared at the ceiling at the sketches that he made there, in chalk bartered for with food and supplies. He had drawn Cony Island for Bucky. The rollercoaster and the beach. Bucky missed the sun. They all did, but Bucky talked about it more than most. He remembered how it felt as a child, and childish memories hurt worse than the realism of the memories the adults brought with them onto the rattling ark when they boarded so long ago.

“What do you think we are going to find up at the front?” Bucky asked. He kept his voice lower for this, leaning in closer to Steve’s ear. Their bodies pressed against each other, comfortable and hot, legs wrapped around legs and feet in two layers of socks rubbed against each other. Bucky’s right hand held Steve’s. His left, not quite a hand but better than nothing, rested at his side and provided no warmth.

“I don’t know that, either.” Steve said, his hands finding Bucky’s waist. “More of this, maybe.” He shrugged. Bucky shook his head.

“No. Not with the way they come back here, all pomp and circumstance with their fur coats and fancy speeches. They have something grand up there. You know it and so do I.”

“You’re right, Buck.” Steve said. “Glad you’re with me on this.”

Bucky brought his hand up to Steve’s cheek, warmth radiating from it, filling him with a kind of courage and goodness that only came from Bucky’s touch.

“You know I am. ‘Til the end of the line.” Bucky said.

“’Til the end of the line.” Steve repeated, pressing their foreheads together.

It was Bucky who closed the distance. Steve watched his lips part and eyes close, that hardness and brutality slipping away if only for a moment, to reveal the young man beneath it. When they kissed, it was always as if it could be their last.

They locked together, limbs tangled. Steve breathed out a sigh, not one of relief, he could never be relieved when the world was frozen and cruel, but this temporary respite was enough. Just to be in Bucky’s arms sometimes, staying warm and safe, and keeping Bucky warm and as safe as he could in return was enough.

They parted and Bucky slid all the way under the blankets. They knew better than to do this out in the open, except sometimes at night when the sleeping bodies around them made it warm and dark and safe enough. This time, Bucky pushed up the fabric of Steve’s shirt and kissed along his side and abdomen until he found the buttons of his pants, working them open slowly and with purpose. Steve watched the sun shine over his head in the chalk drawing and felt every sensation of Bucky’s ministrations. He pressed hot, soft kisses along the skin as it was revealed to him. Steve’s breath came faster.

“Bucky” Steve breathed, the sound gone before it was heard. “Bucky. Bucky.”

Under the blanket and out of sight, Bucky pulled Steve’s pants down and wasted no time pressing his face against the cock that was waiting, so hard and warm for him there. Steve felt the roughness of Bucky’s beard between his legs and clutched at the blanket by his head for something to hang on to. His other hand traveled down to the shape moving under the covers and rested there. Bucky felt the weight of Steve’s hand and smiled. He knew what this did to Steve.

Bucky moved his head from side to side, letting his chin and cheeks scrape against Steve’s thighs and balls and heard the telltale gasp from above. He let his hand drift slowly around Steve’s legs, from his knees, up to his thighs, before bringing two of his fingers to his mouth to suck. When they were wet, he moved quickly, taking as much of Steve in his mouth as he could, and trailing one digit along his ass. The hand above him pressed harder and he moaned with Steve in his mouth, sure of what this was doing to him.

From above, Steve closed his eyes and felt every movement and sensation like lightning. Bucky’s head bobbed up and down along his shaft in a perfect rhythm, in sync with the rolling, rocking of the train. Steve bent his knees like parenthesis around Bucky, enclosing him where he was while he sucked at Steve with bright enthusiasm.

“Bucky.” Steve breathed. “Oh god. Oh yes.” He said while he felt Bucky’s tongue move in time with his fingers, making the move to get inside of him. He exhaled hard, that familiar sensation coiled in his core while Bucky opened him up and licked along his length. When Bucky’s fingers were replaced by his tongue, Steve pressed his arm across his mouth and bit down to keep the sounds muffled.

Bucky’s beard scratched at Steve’s thighs while he licked mercilessly. He knew Steve by heart, had mapped out the topography of Steve’s body under the frayed and threadbare blankets so many times that it was second nature to find the places that Steve liked best and to touch him in the ways that made him shake and whimper. Bucky rutted against the mattress, picturing Steve’s face in the sunshine, doing this to him on a warm field of grass in the summer. He flattened his tongue and ran it from his balls back to his hole, pressing in again and earning a moan that even he could hear, all the way down in the dark, hidden beneath the blankets.

He returned his hand, warm, whole, human, to Steve’s body, sliding up and down his cock easily with spit and precome gathered there. He worked in a synchronized rhythm, mouth and hand and train, to bring Steve off. If only for the briefest moment, Bucky could make Steve feel good. He could make Steve forget where they were and all the things that had led them here. That was all Bucky wanted to do, and it propelled him further.

He withdrew his tongue and brushed against his prostate once more for good measure, and swallowed Steve’s dick down as far as it would go. He relished the feeling of it against the back of his throat, nose burrowed into the patch of curly blonde hair. Bucky closed his eyes and swallowed, throat contracting around Steve. That was the final push.

Steve’s hand found his face underneath the blanket, cold against his cheek, but welcome. His legs tensed around Bucky, hand grasped at him, and for a moment he was suspended in the sensation while Bucky’s mouth filled.

Steve came back into himself with Bucky’s mouth around his dick and his eyes on the sun. He groaned as Bucky swallowed around him, feeling oversensitive and sated in the best way, and found Bucky’s hand under the blanket to pull him back up. They were both panting.

“You know what you’re going to do yet?” Bucky asked when he had caught his breath and settled back next to Steve.

“About the notes?” Steve shook his head. “I have one thing in mind about the present situation.” He said, ducking under the covers. Bucky rested crossed his mismatched arms behind his head and looked at the sun.

 


End file.
